Pencil Sketches
by shadow08
Summary: One-shots and vignettes from the Stuck Universe.
1. The best archer in Middle Earth

She has never been in a war before, (that disaster at Parth Galen doesn't count because all she did was brandish her sword, and jump recklessly on giant orcs' backs to save Boromir) so the aftermath of the battle for Helm's Deep is surreal to her. She has never claimed to give the appropriate response to stimuli but she doubts that a soldier's reaction to her first battle is to dance around the battlements singing 'I Will Survive' at the top of their lungs.

This is exactly what she is doing though, but she's moved on from the battlements to the interior of the deeping comb, in search of food. Her wounds have been tended and there is a great possibility that she's on an adrenaline high.

She makes a wrong turn somewhere, which really isn't at all surprising, and runs into Legolas who is holed up in some dingy room, his bow in his hands, an expression on his face that she can only call distress.

She knows she should go, leave him in peace because he most likely wants to deal with this, whatever _this_ is, on his own, but she is _Sam_ and she likes shirking established norms just for the hell of it, so she says, voice as soft as a breeze. "Penny for your thoughts, honeychild?"

He looks up, his blue eyes clouded over in a way that breaks her heart because this is Legolas, the one she always thought had no chinks in the armor. She crosses the room and sits down next to him. She doesn't say anything, merely lays her hands over his and tries to mask the worry in her eyes, because his hands are clutching the bow so tight his knuckles are white.

"I could have prevented this." He says finally, his hands tracing the cut on her left wrist where an orc-blade had nicked her skin. "I should have shot that torch-bearer down."

The anguish is evident in his voice, making her grip on his hands tighten. She turns to look at him, green eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that why you're in here?" she demands. "Because you're wallowing in guilt?"

He can't meet her gaze, instead focuses on the floor, and that pisses her off because dammit, that's _her_ thing. He's not allowed to steal her shtick; not allowed to lose it because his strength is the only thing that's keeping _her_ together, most days. So she hooks a finger under his chin, forces his face back to her. The first time she's ever seen him this sad was when they thought Aragorn had died and fallen off a cliff. It's not something she's pleased to see again.

"I am the greatest archer in Middle Earth," His words should be proud, but instead they're filled with such profound sorrow and doubt that she almost flips her shit. "But I was useless out there today."

"Look, Legolas." She says, taking care to make each word sound like a lead brick. She is so not having any of this self-doubt business; maybe she can take it from other soldiers like her, but not from him. Her hand is on his cheek, making it a little difficult to concentrate on her point because his eyes are closed and he's leaning into her touch. Damn him; she's not allowed to make him feel better with hugs and kisses, and it's not fair of him to make her want to do so without her permission. "We're at war, and there are always going to be casualties. You were _not_ useless out there, and if I ever hear you say that again, I'm going to break your pretty face. You said it yourself, you're the _greatest_ archer in Arda, and you can bet your ass that if you weren't here, very few of us would be too. Hell, I'd probably be lying face-down on that field out there, otherwise. So if you want to go heaping blame, I suggest we all point one collective finger at Saruman."

He doesn't say anything for a long time, but after a while he pulls her towards him, arms wrapping around her waist, head burying into her shoulder, which Sam thinks says more than his words ever could. She murmurs assurances into his ear and holds him close, knowing that sometimes that's all you need to make you feel whole again, and that's all she _can_ do without making an ass of herself. She kind of falls asleep like that, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped tight around him and when she wakes up, he's standing by the door, eyes clear and a smile on his lips.

"Thank you." And she beams brightly at him, her stomach suddenly turning into an Olympic gymnast performing a routine on the floor.

"Anytime, Twinkletoes." She leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek before breezing out of the room. The elf stands there, looking after her long after she's disappeared into the depths of the hornburg. Finally, he turns around and smiles, raising a hand to where she kissed his cheek.


	2. Brother and Sister

When Boromir sets out from Gondor to seek wisdom for a strange dream, he knew deep in his heart that he wouldn't return. He had also known that the riddles in his vision weren't going to be the strangest things he was to see before the end. He was right. Somehow, in his quest to find answers, he'd found himself waist-deep in elves and dwarves and Halflings, things of legend and stories told to children before bed. The strangest of all of course, were the two women who fell from the sky.

He'd laughed at it at first, sure that he had taken one watch too many and this was his body's way of telling him to rest, sleep is good, but as far as hallucinations went, the dark-haired woman was particularly volatile and temperamental. Loud and more often than not clumsy, but with a temper that could skewer a wild boar faster than a spear; they'd come to blows the moment she'd stepped up and offered to take the first watch. They were both, as a rule, incredibly stubborn but her sense of humor and general _strangeness_ made her endearing and well, he blames Gandalf. He's pretty sure the old wizard did some sort of hocus pocus to make them actually respect each other.

xoxo

Lothlorien offers them a temporary respite, time to heal from the wounds that Gandalf's loss has caused, time to rest their weary bones and gather enough strength to see them through to Mordor. He and Sam are walking; her fever has just broken and the color has returned to her face. She is smiling, a calm gentle smile and he feels a stirring in his chest. Something wakes in him that hasn't been seen since last he saw his brother, so many weeks ago.

The Golden Wood offers him no peace of mind though; he is not Aragorn and elves only present him with riddles, not comfort but he walks with Sam nonetheless, listens to her chatter about never being able to find her way through anywhere and laughs when she tells crude jokes and tells him that she's glad to see him clean. Her tone is light but there is a knowing look in her eyes, and Boromir understands her effort for what it is.

"It is not as though you were the epitome of cleanliness yourself, you know." He jibes, gently knocking shoulders with her. She lets out a snort and messes up his hair, which is a sight to see considering she is two full heads shorter. It is a decidedly sisterly move and he wonders briefly if she has any siblings back in her home but when he asks, her voice just goes quiet, the way it always does when anyone attempts to break through her shell.

"Not really." She says. He wonders what that is supposed to mean and if he shall ever get to find out.

xoxo

"That is a ghastly sort of business," Gimli mutters at dinner. "To be ripped from yer home and your family with no hope of ever seeing them again, I would not be able to suffer through it."

They are having dinner together; the hobbits are huddled in a corner looking somber. Personally, Boromir thinks that if anyone can understand Sam's current predicament it would be Frodo, whose gaze is currently bent towards his food, lips puckered together in a hard line. Aragorn is examining the engravings on his goblet and says nothing, merely glances briefly at Legolas. The subject of their conversation is nowhere to be found. The two friends had gone off hours ago, hand-in-hand for a final audience together with the Lady of the Wood and only Sam had returned. She had looked tired and heavy and she barely passed them a glance before disappearing into the trees again.

Little Pippin Took breaks off from the others; makes his way to Boromir's side and sits down. "How do you think she's doing?" he asks the taller man, forehead puckering.

"I do not know." He admits with a shrug, but it is not for lack of trying.

Pippin sighs dejectedly before his eyes go wide and he tilts his head towards the edge of the clearing. Boromir follows the hobbit's gaze and sees Sam making her way towards them. She looks tired and there are leaves stuck to her hair; he supposes that she's stumbled upon a root recently and tangled herself in a bush. She sits down at the table and offers them the brightest smile she can muster, which in this circumstance, is not very bright at all.

"Hi guys." Her voice is quiet. She looks around the table at all of them and even from where he is standing; Boromir knows she's kicking herself for making them worry. "I got a little lost."

Frodo, who sits nearest, piles a plate high with food and orders her to eat. No one asks her if she's alright, because it is a foolish question; instead they do what they can to make it so. They tell her tales of their respective homelands and by the end of the meal she is laughing so hard she can barely keep herself upright.

xoxo

In his dreams he can hear her voice; beautiful and melodious and it shakes him to the core. Her eyes come next, and he feels naked and ashamed because he knows that she can see everything; every weakness, every flaw, every secret hurt, every hidden desire. There is no judgment in her gaze but he cannot hold it nonetheless, cannot look into those eyes so full of knowledge without feeling shamed, dishonored.

"Do not be so troubled, Son of Gondor." She is standing before him now, garbed in white, a gold circlet on her brow. She smiles at him. "I bring you a gift, and counsel in these dark times."

He doesn't answer, merely waits for her to continue because even in his dreams, he does not trust himself to speak, but she doesn't, only smiles her secret smile and captures his gaze.

It happens suddenly, one minute he is looking into the Lady's eyes and the next he is falling, falling into deep water. Darkness envelops him, reaching into his very depths and crushing his heart until he is almost sure he is dead, until he hopes that he is dead just so the hurt will stop, and then he sees Sam, mud-stained and panting, rushing forwards with a sword raised high, sees her behead her enemy and jump on the back of another, eyes filled with a fierce anger that he has yet to see on her. And then she is smiling, mouthing words he cannot comprehend and then jumping into his arms and hugging him tight.

The visions shifts again and he sees her with Faramir, his arm around her waist and hers around his shoulders. He sees himself walking into view, taking his place alongside his…_brother and sister_, and even in his dream he knows the words feel right. His arm snakes around her waist and her free arm winds its way around his neck, smiles upon all their faces. There are scars on her arms that she does not yet have and he cannot help but notice that together they look like a puzzle, finally finished.

"War has taken hope from your heart, Son of Gondor." Says the Lady's voice, standing in front of him again. "And family also, is being taken from you, slowly. I give you both now, for hope cannot be restored to your city until it is first restored in your heart."

She places a kiss on his brow and when he opens his eyes he is back in the clearing just in tine to see Sam picking her way across the glade. He scrambles to his feet and makes his way after her, taking care to keep silent. She threads easily through the trees, following paths with surprising certainty until she reaches the banks of the Silverlode. "Hi, Boromir." She says, sitting down on a large boulder.

This surprises him even more. "You are a great deal more observant than you give yourself credit for."

She shrugs and he sits down next to her, looking up at the star-spangled sky. "You were pretty noisy, sunshine."

He sits down next to her, drawing up his knees and putting his face in one hand. "How are you faring?" he asks softly.

She gives another shrug; haphazard and lacking in energy, like the movements of an ill-used limb. "I was eight when I met Tasha," her voice is so soft he is unsure if he's even meant to hear. "Some boys were pulling on her hair where she was playing, so I jumped in and pushed them away. We've been inseparable ever since. My whole life, I've always had Tasha by my side. She's more than just a best friend, she's my sister."

He doesn't say anything because he knows now is not the time. Sam sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I don't have the best family; my mom…she's always been distant and disapproving. I look a lot like her, you know, and for some reason she's always thought that nothing I ever did was good enough. Tasha made me see that her approval didn't matter; that the only opinion I had to consider was my own."

"She was right." He acknowledges with a gentle nod, it is something he has told Faramir time and time again. He is the firstborn, and he does not know from firsthand experience what it must feel like to have to work so hard to gain the affections of a parent, and yet fail miserably every time, but he has seen the pained look in his brother's eyes to know that Tasha's words are right. Tears sprout in her eyes and she swipes angrily at her cheeks.

"My dad's a great guy." She continues when it becomes clear that her tears have no intention of abating any time soon. "He's loving and generous and understanding and _fun_ and I love him _so much_, but when he and my mom were in the throes of divorce, that is getting their marriage legally _destroyed_, they were always so busy hurling abuse at one another that I sort of just got shunted to the side. Tasha became my only source of comfort then, she became the only family I had and now I have to face a life, a whole freaking _world_ without her—hell, without _anything_, no name, no home, no family, nothing! So, in answer to your question Boromir, I'm faring pretty horribly."

His heart goes out to her; she is a stranger in an even stranger land with no future to look forward to whichever way the scales tipped. At the back of his mind, he could still remember the feeling of seeing the three of them together and the ache in his chest throbbed.

"You shall have a home." He finally finds himself saying as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She looks up at him, startled all trace of tears gone. "What?"

"If your fear is that you will have nowhere to call home, and no people to be your family, then you shall have mine." Her expression is still absolutely terrified and he suddenly realizes that she probably thinks he's proposing. He quickly withdraws his arm and shakes his hands in front of him. "No, it is not what you are thinking! This is no marriage proposal; I do not see you in that way, in the slightest. My heart looks upon you as a sister Sam, and I would not have you despairing when there is something I can yet do about it. Whether I live or die, you shall have a home in the House of Ecthelion."

"You can't do that." She says, drawing a shaky breath. "I can't impose on you like that."

Boromir shakes his head, grasping her by the shoulders and looking her square in the eye. "You are many things, Sam." He tells her in the most sincere tones. "But an imposition is not one of them. I would be honored to call you little sister, if you will have me."

She is silent for a long time, disbelief and doubt etched across her features. Green eyes look up at him questioningly, as if to ask if he's _sure_ because there is still time to take back the offer. He makes no indications of moving away, instead he beams. Her lower lip trembles and she wraps her arms around him, succumbing to her tears. "Thank you."

xoxo

It is like a nightmare; one that takes hold, sinks its feral claws deep into your bones and never lets go. He feels like he should wake up, rise from the horror of what's happening, what he's done but he can't because this is reality. This is happening. An arrow lodges itself into his shoulder, white-hot pain shooting up his body and making Merry and Pippin's cries fade into the background. He swings his sword high, beheads another orc and another, because what else can he do? He will never be able to take back what he has done to Frodo, but he can make up for it by keeping his friends safe.

Another arrow notches into him, and he staggers slightly before getting back into the rhythm. He is a Son of Gondor and their worth is measure by their valiance; he has had worse pains than this. He raises his horn to his lips and blows long and hard; he does not hope for very much because he knows that his companions are just as overrun as he is. His fingers are beginning to go numb, and his arms feel leaden. Somewhere behind him, he hears the screams of his hobbit friends as they are carted off to Valar only knew where, leaving him standing there, powerless to stop them.

His opponent stands in front of him now, crossbow raised and ready to strike. Boromir laughs bitterly. When he set off from Gondor all those months ago, to seek answers to a strange dream, he had known he wouldn't come back. Now his premonition had come true. Perhaps Faramir _should_ have been the one to go on this journey, not him. Proud, gentle, noble Faramir. At least then he would have met Sam.

Almost as if his thoughts had summoned her, he sees her charging through the wreckage, sword raised, anger practically rolling off of her in waves. The orcs pay her no mind as she slashes past them and jumps onto the back of the one wielding the crossbow, meeting his snarls of protest with her own. To his dying day, Boromir swears he shall never again see a sight quite like it.

"You do _not_ get to hurt my brother." Sam snarls viciously, her dagger ripping across the Uruk's neck as she twists its head around the entire way. The force of her motion sends them propelling into a tree with a resounding crash. It takes him a minute to recover from the shock, but eventually he manages to wobble his way over to her and extend a hand to pick her up.

Unsurprisingly, she slaps his hand away and climbs to her feet unaided, glaring darkly at him as she picks up her sword and stabs an Uruk behind him, in the face. "Keep up, will you?" she snaps in annoyance and a laugh issues from his throat. She gives him a flippant grin in return and together they fend off the apocalypse.

xoxo

So, maybe they _didn't_ fend off the apocalypse, but Boromir finds that you really can't hang around Sam for any extended period of time and not pick up a thing or two from her wide range of insanity.


End file.
